


Padre Loco

by GuilTPleasurez



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Mad Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuilTPleasurez/pseuds/GuilTPleasurez
Summary: Mad Father Spamano AU. Based on this picture: https://edwardsuoh13.deviantart.com/art/Mad-Father-Spamano-Crossover-360648945





	Padre Loco

Chiara didn’t move; she didn’t dare. She could hear heavy footfalls pacing up and down the hall, passing by the room where she hid time and time again. The sound would start to fade, and the Italian would relax just the slightest bit. But the boots always returned. 

He always returned.

Perhaps he already knew where she hid, and was just screwing with her mind. Chiara quickly shook her head, killing the thought before it could plague her mind and bring forth an icy fear that would paralyze her, and then where would she be? There was no way he knew where she was; if he did, he surely would have come for her by now. She must still be safe, even if only for a little while longer.

How had it come to this? Chiara wiped at her eyes with one arm, trying to clear the tears the stung at her eyes. Her mind was in turmoil; she kept remembering a mix of the good times and the bad. She had been so happy before all of this, back when it was just her and Father and Mother. But then… Mother…

Oh god, Mother!

His voice suddenly rang out, the haunting melody of a siren, the pitiful moans of drowned sailors. “Chiara, mi hermosa muñeca, where are you? Why did you run away from Father? Come back to me. I need you, cariño. Chiara… Chiara… Chiara…!” It was like a chant, a demonic chant that sent chills down the shaking girl’s spine. The man pacing the halls just kept repeating himself over and over again, like he was stuck on the notion that his daughter might return if only he called her long enough. “Chiara… Chiara… Chi-”

The voice stopped, as did the sound of his boots thudding on the wooden floor. The world was morgue-like; there was no sound of movement, as if the house itself had gone and died. The silence was as suffocating as the darkness which both hid and tormented the trembling girl. Tears threatened to spill from her wide eyes as she brought both hands to her mouth, attempting to smother the whimper that almost burst from her lips.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a simple, everyday noise. It could have been anything. It might have been heard anywhere. But since this was where she heard it, the noise made her blood freeze in her boiling veins. It was a very faint creaking sound that reached her ears and caused the tears to break free at last.

A door.

Her door.

The thought came suddenly, spearing through the fear and panic that filled the young girl’s mind. Anger, both flaming and icy at the same time, blended naturally with the raging turmoil of thoughts trapped inside her skull, since she would not give voice to them. ‘After all the effort I put into getting away from him, when I finally thought I found a good hiding spot, he finds me. God damn it!’ It was all she could focus on; if she didn’t have her anger, she would probably begin to sob loud enough to be heard. ‘God damn it! God fucking damn it!’

He had begun to speak again while she was lost to her thoughts. “Chiara, dulce, I know you’re in here.” His voice was like the dulce he spoke of, but she was not fooled. She knew she could not trust his comforting voice. “Come here. Come to Father. Father has been looking for you everywhere, you know. Why must you hide like this?”

She didn’t respond, just held her breath and tried not to fidget, despite her uncomfortable positioning. The cupboard dug into her back, made her dress ride up awkwardly. But she dared not move for fear that the creaky floorboard might give away her location.

The footsteps began again. He approached the corner of the room where she crouched. Had the light not burned out many years ago, he would have seen her immediately. But as it was, the bulb cast no shine over her hiding spot. So she remained safe.

Because her eyes had adjusted to the dark long ago, she could easily see the frown on the Spaniard’s face. His green eyes wide and darting swiftly across the room, as if struggling to locate his missing daughter. His focus suddenly landed on the cupboard. Chiara’s heart leapt to her throat. His frown softened to a faint smile. 

“Chiara…” he whispered, the word a single musical note.

He reached out as if he could grab a hold of the shaking girl, but she ducked her head just in time. Finding only cupboard, the man let out a sad sort of sigh and drew back. His smile dropped back to a frown. He turned, walking slowly back to the door, as if to give up.

She watched him fearfully.

He stopped at the last minute, right beside the unused light switch. The man paused for a moment, looking at it in an almost amused fashion, before flicking it to the on position. The switch made an unfamiliar click, but the light remained stubbornly off. He flicked the switch back to the off position, then back to on. On again. Off again. On again. Off again. Over and over and over.

‘He really is insane!’ Chiara thought to herself, alarmed. But really, she should not have been shocked about that. Everything she had witnessed had proven to her just how crazy her Father really was.

The Spaniard continued messing with the light switch, as if fascinated by it. On, off, on, off, on…

On.

It was so improbable that it had been deemed impossible. Such things could not happen. Nobody could possibly have that bad of luck.

Chiara – it appeared – was one of a kind.

The dead light managed one final spark before it died for good. That was all it took to illuminate the room for the briefest of seconds, revealing the girl who sat stunned in the corner.

He was looking over his shoulder with the spark flickered. He saw her cowering in the corner. A grin lit up his face; a grin too big for his face. He began to walk slowly towards her. Reached for her.

Chiara rushed to her feet, but there was nowhere to run. He had already blocked her escape route by standing in front of the main door; there were no windows or other doors to attempt to get to.

“Ah, so this is where you got off to!” 

He sounded delighted. It sickened her.

“St-Stay away from me!” she stammered. The desperation was clear in her voice. “Please Father, just… just stay back!”

He smiled wider and continued towards her, completely ignoring his daughter’s request. “But princesa, we get to be together forever now!” He tilted his head to one side and regarded the terrified girl with curiosity. “Didn’t you think your mother looked pretty like that? When you saw her like that, didn’t you notice how pretty she was? A perfect doll.”

“Father…” Her voice wavered. She choked back a sob and spoke brokenly. The tears continued to trail down her cheeks as she asked in a horrified whisper, “Are you going to make me into a doll? Like… Like Mother?”

He just continued to grin. “Don’t be sad, Chiara. By making you a doll, your beauty can last forever!”

Chiara flashed back to the dolls she had seen earlier, in Father’s lab. ‘None of them were moving at all…’ she recalled, half blind by her tears. ‘Am I… Am I going to be like that?!’

He apparently could tell what she was thinking, just by looking at her face. “You could hardly even tell they were dolls, could you?”

She flinched.

The man laughed. “But their heads, eyes, torsos, hands, legs… They were gathered from a wide array of people! I find it quite fascinating! Combine a dog with a human, if you so desire! Isn’t that incredible?”

Chiara tried to back away, but there was still nowhere to go. The cupboard prevented her from pressing herself further into the room. “N-No… Please…”

“What would you like to be, Chiara?”

She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, still shaking, but still once more.

His eyes suddenly saddened as he looked calmly at her. “Alas, I can’t make very many changes while preserving your loveliness…”

“Father… stop…” she begged, already knowing he would not listen.

“Ah yes…” he announced, brightening suddenly. “Perhaps I’ll dress you up finely!” His green eyes locked to her gold as he said in a soothing voice, “Tell me whatever you wish to wear!”

“No!” Chiara gasped.

His expression darkened. “Are you refusing your Father?” he demanded in a disturbingly quiet voice.

“I-I’m sorry…” the Italian whimpered. “… But… I… I don’t want to be a doll!”

He started towards her once more. “Chiara…”

“No… stop, Father… I don’t want this... I wanted to stay with Father… I love you… Father… So please… Stop this…!”

His gaze seemed almost to soften. For a moment, Chiara had the hope that her words had finally reached him. “Chiara…” 

But then his grin returned, crazier than ever before, and she knew she had lost him forever. “Don’t worry. Father and Chiara will be always be together now.” He moved closer still, and now her golden eyes were drawn to the object he held cradled in both hands. He continued, “So rest in peace… Chiara… I love you!”

“No!” she shrieked, covering her face with both hands so that she wouldn’t have to see the chainsaw flash downwards. It roared loudly and bit deep as it tore past her clothes and into her flesh. The pain was unimaginable.

A scream erupted from her as the blood began to splatter, staining the dark room a deep crimson. She thrashed, but could not get away. Her Father only continued to grin, leaning his weight into the blow so that the chainsaw cut deeper and deeper into the screaming girl.

At last the screams stopped. And although the chainsaw still buzzed, the body no longer spasmed from pain. There was no more pain to be felt.

Antonio stood there silently for a while, chainsaw still buzzing in his hands, breathing heavily. Eventually he seemed to remember the chainsaw, and so he turned it off and let it thud to the ground beside the bloody corpse.

He knelt, picking up a severed hand and bringing it to his lips. “Chiara…” he whispered to it, “… your new dress will look wonderful on you! You’ll like that, right, mi tomanito?”

Smiling gently to himself, he reached into one of the pockets of his blood-splattered pants. He pulled out a single needle and a spool of dark thread. He began to whistle cheerfully to himself as he located an arm and began to slowly stitch the hand he still held to the rest of the body. Bit by bit, piece by piece.


End file.
